


Epithelial

by star_child



Series: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Asexual Character, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, intimacy problems, they're third years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9508286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_child/pseuds/star_child
Summary: (ep-i-THEEL-ee-al)adjectiverelating to or denoting the thin layer of cells on the body's surface (the skin)song





	

To put it simply, Kyoutani is a wild card.

As a first year he’s weary, withdrawn. Coiled and tense and nervous like the string of a bow, far past ready to snap. He is no longer _waiting_ for it, instead seeming to delay it, second by second.

As a second year he’s explosive, angry. Forced by the faculty to join a sport to release this aggressive energy he seems to suddenly have – he chooses volleyball, of all things. Yahaba is less than pleased by his performance.

As a third year he’s ace, strong and powerful, but still unpredictable. He often seems in danger of exploding, of finally going _snap_ and releasing the bowstring and sending out dozens of razor sharp arrows. His anger would be sharp and piercing, and Yahaba does his best to never let him get to that point.

Instead he lets him shoot explosives on the court, racking up point after point, win after win, until they make and it to Inter High and they beat Karasuno – they don’t beat Shiratorizawa, but they face them, and that alone makes Oikawa cry in the stands and congratulate all of them afterward.

After that, the third years hardly know what to do with themselves.

They can stay in the club, or they can quit to focus on schoolwork and exams, college selection. Yahaba can’t decide what will hurt him more: completely overworking himself as he tries to do both, or leaving volleyball all together. He finds himself stalling, to see what his fellow third years will do.

This ends up proving unhelpful, because Watari isn’t going to college. His father owns a restaurant, has been teaching him to cook since he was old enough not to burn himself. He’s always done his best in school, but he chose to take over the restaurant at a young age. His education ends after this year.

So the only person Yahaba has to look to is Kyoutani.

And he doesn’t exactly act as expected. As soon as they get home from their losing game at the Inter High, he approaches the captain. Fumbling with his fingers and trying to look like he _wasn’t_ just crying on the bus, he mumbles, “The third years are free to go after this right? I’m gonna… I’m gonna go. I have to focus on college shit.”

Yahaba, eloquent as always, blurts out, “ _You_ want to go to college?”

Kyoutani glares at him, upper lip curling up in a sneer. “Yeah, what of it? Don’t think I can do it?”

“No no!” he says quickly, shaking his head. “I just… I never thought you had any interest in school.”

The glare doesn’t intensify, as he’d been expecting it to. Instead Kyoutani seems to soften, the crease between his eyebrows fading, lips falling closed. “Why,” he huffs, “‘Cuz I’m in class one?”

Yahaba knows it’s useless to lie to him. Kyoutani has developed the uncanny ability to read him like Oikawa could. “Well… yeah, to be honest. You’re late to school all the time, on the off chance you’re awake during lunch you never do any homework or study. I just didn’t think…”

The rest of the team has filed off the bus by now, gathered their stuff and are hovering around each other.

“We’ll talk later, if you want,” Kyoutani mumbles, taking a step back. “You should talk to your team.”

Yahaba looks out at his team. Many of them look like they’ve been crying, but they’re standing tall and slapping each other on the back, shooting small smiles and words of praise. Yahaba reaches out to touch Kyoutani on the shoulder. “ _Our_ team,” he says proudly. He’s too busy looking forward to see the other boy flinch heavily under his hand.

* * *

They do talk later.

Yahaba is leaving the building at the end of the day when he sees Kyoutani, standing by the school gate with his hands in his pockets, alternating between scowling at his shoes and scowling at the line of parent’s cars lining the block, waiting for their kids. He doesn’t think twice about jogging over.

“Hey,” Yahaba smiles, though it dulls a bit when Kyoutani jerks back slightly in surprise.

“Oh. Hey.”

“...What’s up?”

Kyoutani kicks at the ground as his gaze flits over Yahaba’s shoulder and up the street, clearly looking for something. “Not much,” he answers shortly.

“Are you waiting for your mom?” he asks, immediately knows he’s said the wrong thing when Kyoutani’s rapidly moving gaze snaps back to Yahaba.

“Don’t have one,” he bites with the same intensity as his glare. For a moment Yabaha thinks he’s going to hit him (despite having never seen Kyoutani act aggressive toward another person), but the moment passes as Kyoutani looks back out at the street, still glaring at the cars like they’ve personally offended him. “Waiting for my dad,” he mumbles. “He said he’d pick me up so I don’t have to walk.”

“How long of a walk is it?” Yahaba asks, tilting his head to the side and genuinely curious. He still doesn’t know Kyoutani very well, despite how close they’ve become on the court.

“I don’t know, an hour maybe? Hour and a half?”

“Why don’t you take the train?”

The crease between Kyoutani’s eyebrows cuts even deeper, the corners of his mouth pulling down around his words. “Fuck I don’t know, I don’t have any _money_ , okay?!” He slumps back against the gate, fight draining as soon as it came. “Why are you bothering me?”

Yahaba blinks a few times, trying to process how quickly Kyoutani moves between moods and how much he’s learned about him in a few short moments. “I didn’t mean to bother you,” he finally says. “I just wanted to come talk to you.”

“Why?”

“Well… we’re friends. That’s what you do, you talk to your friends?”

“We’re not friends,” Kyoutani snaps, but there isn’t that much of an edge to it. “You’re my captain.” They both pause, the last tear filled bus ride flooding both of their minds. “Were my captain,” Kyoutani amends in a mumble.

Yahaba glares a little at his stubbornness. “Well you’re my _friend_ , like it or not.” He reaches out to place a hand on Kyoutani’s shoulder, this time doesn’t miss the way his eyes widen and he gasps as he ducks down and away, fear overtaking the annoyance on his face.

They stare at each other in the aftermath, neither of them having expected such a reaction.

“Kyoutani –”

“Don’t _touch_ me,” he spits, voice shaking as he rights himself and tries his hardest to keep glaring. “I’m going home.” With this he turns on his heel and storms off down the street.

* * *

It takes a pretty good chunk of the year for Kyoutani to warm up to him. Even when they start hanging out, it seems like Kyoutani is gruffly accepting the company instead of actually acting like friends. But Yahaba is persistent.

He learns very quickly not to touch. After the time Kyoutani reacts like his hand is an open flame, Yahaba starts paying closer attention to him. He’s fine, normally. During practice and school he’s his usual gruff self, though he’s toned down the intensity since second year. His only problems come when people begin to get to close to him, if they raise a hand for a high five or try to slap him on the back.

When people begin to get too close, Kyoutani retreats. If it’s someone he doesn’t mind so much, Yahaba or Watari, he’ll just pull back, a hard glare on his face. Even though the volleyball team still hangs out during lunch and they’ve spent two years with the second years now, Kindaichi is too scared to get close to him. Kunimi never touches people to begin with, so Kyoutani fine with both of them.

Most of the newer first years are too scared as well, except one, who continues to try to prove that he’s tough. His numerous attempts to slap Kyoutani on the back have earned him downright _snarls_ of resentment, twisting the third year’s whole face in a look of anger.

But underneath, Yahaba notices, there’s always a little bit of fear.

He knows, of course, that Kyoutani will shut him out completely if he just asks about it upfront. He also knows that he wants to get him over his fear, but diving in head first will probably get him attacked.

He has to go slowly.

* * *

“Do you want to come over?” Yahaba asks as they leave the building. It’s become a sort of routine that Kyoutani come over most days after school, but he still asks to make sure the invitation is clear.

Kyoutani grunts an affirmative, even as he stares at his shoes. “I got a physics test next week,” he mumbles.

“Have you started studying?”

He lifts one shoulder. “Some.”

Yahaba nods, mentally reviewing what homework he has himself. They walk down the street in relative silence, nothing but the sounds of their shoes on the sidewalk to provide a background noise.

“You know…” Yahaba begins slowly after some time, “My parents love you, and I enjoy studying with you, but…” He pauses to watch Kyoutani’s reaction. His shoulders stiffen, his jaw tenses, his hands shift in his pockets as though clenching. He thinks he's going to be abandoned. “I was wondering why we don't hang out somewhere else,” he finishes, noticing the way Kyoutani relaxes. But only slightly.

“What’d you ah, where were you thinking?” Kyoutani asks, scratching the back of his neck.

“Maybe the library?”

Kyoutani relaxes completely.

“Or your place?”

He's instantly on high alert again, even nearly trips on the sidewalk. Yahaba reaches out to steady him before thinking better of it. “No!” Kyoutani nearly yells. Yahaba blinks in surprise. He huffs a breath, gets ahold of himself. “No, sorry. The library, uh… Library works.”

Yahaba nods slowly. “Okay.”

 

The library staff are more than happy to see Yahaba, though their smiles become a bit strained at the sight of Kyoutani, half hiding behind him in all his bleached haired, raw knuckled glory.

“I changed my mind,” he mumbles into the small space between his face and Yahaba’s shoulder blade, “Your place is fine.” A month ago, Yahaba would've taken one look at the way his eyebrows pinched over darting eyes, a thin line of white lips, and assumed he was angry. But he knows now that Kyoutani is just nervous.

“C’mon,” he smiles. “Nothing to be nervous about, just some friendly old librarians.” He leads them to the side, toward the tables hidden away behind tall shelves of books.

“They don't like me,” Kyoutani huffs in reply, even as he follows quickly behind.

“Oh, you don't know that.”

“I do.”

“Have you ever given them reason to?”

Kyoutani frowns. “I walked in.”

Yahaba laughs easily as they reach the tables. A cursory glance to either side tells him the whole area is empty, so they won't have to worry about being a bother. “Don't worry about them, Kyoutani-kun. They’ll like you as long as you're with me.”

Despite the words, Kyoutani frowns.

“What's that look for?”

“I want… I don't want to have to be around you just to have people like me,” Kyoutani admits. He glares at the ground as he speaks, finding it easier to admit to the industrial carpet than to the honest kindness in Yahaba’s eyes. “I just… sometimes want – I wish people –” He glares (this one a downturn of eyebrows above a wrinkled nose pursed lips: frustration) and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever. Never mind. Just… Help me with physics.”

Kyoutani doesn't plan his sentences before he speaks, he just starts talking. He’ll sometimes start a sentence three or four times before he settles on a good one.

Yahaba agrees with a drop of the issue and his bag, making himself comfortable on the floor pillow across from his friend.

* * *

“What are you thinking of majoring in?” Yahaba asks one day, out of the blue.

Kyoutani glances up, eyebrows pinched, lips parted. Confused. “Huh?”

“In college,” Yahaba elaborates, leaning back on one hand and spinning his pen between the fingers of the other. “I want to do something with biology. What do you want to do?”

Kyoutani is less eloquent; shoves his pen between his teeth and slumps forward on the table. “Huh,” he repeats, this time in thought. “Fet tick.”

Yahaba covers his smile with his hand. “What?”

Kyoutani spits the pen out, repeats, “Vet tech,” with some exasperation.

“Oh,” Yahaba nods. “Like a veterinarian?”

“Yeah.” He sounds defensive for some reason, and Yahaba finds himself leaning forward, eager to figure out why.

“Is that what you’ve always wanted to be?”

He gets a single nod.

“Always liked animals?”

He nods again.

“That’s a good major. Your dad must be proud.” He watches closely for Kyoutani’s reaction, and he confirms what he’d been looking for.

His neutral eyebrows, which are already set low, pull down even lower, one more so than the other, shading his eyes as they skirt to the side. His lips pull together, pursing slightly to the side of his lower eyebrow. He’s angry. Hurt. Sad.

“Not… really.” he says slowly, fingers twitching around the pen in front of him. The cap and end are littered with teeth marks.

Yahaba tilts his head, waiting to see if he’ll elaborate. He doesn’t want to say anything to risk shutting Kyoutani down, but he doesn’t want to seem too uninterested either.

“He doesn’t think I can do it,” Kyoutani grunts, and it isn’t a quiet, timid admission like the one at the library. It’s nearly spat out, a solidified fact that he isn’t happy with.

A fact he’s determined to prove wrong.

Yahaba thinks he can do it.

* * *

The first couple times Yahaba tries to intentionally touch him, it’s just weird. He endures several more than awkward rejections for a goodbye handshake (which was just a bad idea in the first place), a hand up from sitting on the floor (which he didn’t think was completely unreasonable), and once, just for the hell of it, he holds a hand out for a fist bump. All three end with Kyoutani staring blankly at his hand before turning away.

The first attempt to land is an unexpected one. It's unplanned, for one, and it doesn't really give Kyoutani as much of a chance to not accept.

Yahaba is in Watari’s restaurant, munching on an appetizer and doing homework in a back booth. Every now and again Watari will come out and sit with him, steal bites of his food, pester him about what all those numbers mean and why does he even need long division for _biology_ – but for the most part he's alone.

It's a fairly busy afternoon at the restaurant, they're moderately full, but not packed. Nothing the waitresses can't handle, and not so bad that Yahaba has to give up his booth. He's relieved, it's raining outside and he doesn't want to walk to the train station.

His phone buzzes beside him suddenly, a sharp one-two as the screen lights up. It's a text.

From: Kyoutani-kun  
(no subject)  
_i need somewhere to study_

From: Kyoutani-kun  
Re:  
_like now_

Yahaba picks up his phone, eyebrows furrowed a tiny bit in worry.

To: Kyoutani-kun  
Re:  
_Is everything okay?_

From: Kyoutani-kun  
Re:  
_yeah peachy fuckin keen where the hell are u_

To: Kyoutani-kun  
Re:  
_Watari’s restaurant. It's two blocks from Mitazono Station._

From: Kyoutani-kun  
Re:  
_the hell r u doing all the way in mitazonokita?_

To: Kyoutani-kun  
Re:  
_You don't have to come if you don't want to._

From: Kyoutani-kun  
Re:  
_two blocks in what direction_

To: Kyoutani-kun  
Re:  
_West._

He doesn't get anymore texts, has all but forgotten about the exchange when someone slams down in the booth across from him forty five minutes later. Yahaba startles, looks up with a cold french fry in his mouth and wide eyes, pencil making a stray mark on his diagram of the carbon system. He carefully erases it as he tries not to choke.

Kyoutani shuffles in the booth across from him, throwing off his bag and shaking his head to dispel the water.

“Easy!” Yahaba yelps, snatching his papers off the table to avoid the flying droplets. “You really are like a mad dog.”

Kyoutani whips up from where he he's pawing through his bag, slams his elbow on the table and points one finger at Yahaba. “You _watch_ yourself,” he growls. His voice, though shaking, holds a tone that tells Yahaba he better do it. He carefully places his notebook back on the table and refrains from further comment.

Silently, Kyoutani goes back to his bag, wiping furiously at his eyes every couple seconds. His t shirt is soaked from his shoulders to about halfway down his stomach, and Yahaba’s willing to bet the fronts of his thighs aren't much drier. His hair is heavy around his ears, dripping down the back of his neck. His shoes squeak against the tile floor. His hands shake.

“Kyoutani…” Yahaba says quietly as the other boy tosses his notebook carelessly on the table. He shoves the end of a pen between his teeth and bites down, doesn't look at Yahaba. “Kyoutani, will you talk to me?” he tries again.

“Nothing happened,” Kyoutani growls again, and though his eyes are watery like his voice, they hold that same intensity that makes Yahaba shut his mouth.

Kyoutani finally finds what he’s looking for – a calculator – and they spend the next half hour working without speaking, letting the sounds of the restaurant and Kyoutani’s sniffling and pen scratching fill the space. Yahaba finishes his questions on the carbon cycle, moves onto a lab report on the composition of dirt. Kyoutani gets halfway through the math packet in front of him, periodically staining it with salt water. Yahaba finishes his cold fries.

Finally, Kyoutani looks up, takes a deep breath like he’s about to speak, but chokes on it at the last second. His left hand sits on the table, clenching and unclenching around his pen, knuckles fading from the angry pink they’ve been since he walked in to a pale white.

Without thinking, Yahaba reaches across the table with his right hand, carefully extracts the pen and replaces it with his own hand.

Kyoutani startles, staring down at their now clasped hands. Every trace of pain, hurt, anger, has been completely wiped from his face, replaced with raised eyebrows, wide eyes, closed lips.

His skin is soft, in that special, open way it is only after all the excess water has evaporated away. It’s cold, but no goosebumps rise, neither from the temperature nor Yahaba’s own warm skin now on it.

Yahaba’s nearly just as surprised, but he doesn’t let go, instead stares straight into Kyoutani’s eyes. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says softly, and is silently impressed with his voice for remaining steady, “But if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here to listen.” He hopes he sounds sincere enough that Kyoutani will _listen_ to him, instead of scoffing and brushing him off like he usually does when Yahaba tries to be serious. He hopes he can be reassuring and firm and everything that Oikawa was, that he actually for once wants to be.

Kyoutani chokes back another sob, but he nods, eyes shining and cheeks rising the tiniest bit to smile in thanks, even as he covers his mouth with his other hand to keep himself silent.

* * *

Yahaba flips quickly through the flashcards in his hands. “What’s the equation for pressure?”

“Force divided by area.”

“Equation for force?”

“Mass times acceleration.”

“Equation for potential energy?”

“Mass times gravity times... height?”

“Yes. Equation for kinetic energy?”

“Shit.” Kyoutani runs a hand through his short hair. “Ah… One half times the mass times… ah… velocity squared?”

Yahaba starts to pull a face, the corners of his lips pulling back to reveal clenched teeth as he sucks in air. When Kyoutani’s face starts to fall, Yahaba reverses.

“Correct!” he shouts, slapping the flashcards down on the floor between them. Kyoutani’s face immediately lights back up to a smile. “That's all of them, you're gonna ace this test!” Spurred by the excitement and momentarily forgetting himself, Yahaba throws his hand up for a high five.

The reaction is instant.

Kyoutani nearly falls backward, smile dropping to a slack jaw as his eyebrows shoot in the opposite direction. His eyes, previously crinkled with a smile, widen in fear.

They both hold their positions for less than a second, before Yahaba hisses between his teeth for real and quickly hides both hands behind his back. Kyoutani, to his credit, recovers quickly as well, sitting back up with a clear of his throat and an attempt to school his features. He can't hide the embarrassment.

“I'm sorry,” Yahaba says quietly. “I know you don't… react well to that kind of thing.”

Kyoutani rubs the back of his neck, a slight nervous habit Yahaba has noticed. “It's cool,” he grunts. “Shouldn’t ‘a done that.”

Stubborn, Yahaba shakes his head. “I shouldn't have gotten carried away, it's not your –”

“Stop!” Kyoutani grunts. “Just, _stop._ It is my fault, okay? There's no reason for me to freak out like that, I know you're not gonna do anything to me.”

He glares at the ground to his side when he's done speaking, lifts the pen he's been fiddling with to gnaw on the end.

Yahaba does stop, thinks about the best way to move forward. Slowly, he pulls his hands from behind his back, settling them in his lap. “Take the pen out of your mouth, Kyoutani-kun,” he suggests, “You're going to spill all the ink.”

Kyoutani glares before petulantly biting down on the pen, then removes it when he hears the plastic start to crack. Before Yahaba can say anything else, Kyoutani clears his throat. “Start the cards over.”

* * *

“I know what you think of me,” Kyoutani blurts one day while they're eating lunch alone at school, because Yahaba has a headache and doesn't want to deal with their old team.

Yahaba startles, because surely Kyoutani doesn't know what he thinks about how soft his skin looks, or how cute his pout is, or how –

He looks over to see Kyoutani with his eyebrows drawn together, a frown on his lips like he's confused by what he just said. “I meant – I mean I know what you think about… my home life, or whatever. And my dad.”

Yahaba stares, because Kyoutani _never_ talks about his life outside of school, not with words.

“I know you think I'm some sob story,” Kyoutani goes on through clenched teeth, twisting a pen in his fingers. Yahaba has given up trying to teach him to spin it. “But I'm not, okay? Daddy doesn't hit me, or whatever, I'm not going home and getting beat on all the time.”

Yahaba nods slowly, partly out of confusion and partly because his headache won't allow for anything faster.

“It's not really – I guess I'm not in the best situation, but it's far from the worst,” he grumbles. He shoves a bite of his lunch in his mouth right after, like he's embarrassed about telling Yahaba that much. “He doesn't do anything. To me,” he finishes quickly.

It was a small hesitation, but Yahaba catches it. “Kyoutani-kun, do you have any siblings?”

“What? No.” He looks up, genuinely confused, and Yahaba believes him.

“Any pets?”

“We had – I had a dog a while back. When I was a kid. She died though. Cancer.”

“Does your dad see anyone?”

“The fuck do you want, huh?” Kyoutani growls. “I live alone with my dad, what do you want from me?”

Yahaba raises his hands in surrender, takes a bite of his own lunch while Kyoutani calms down. “I'm sorry for the questions,” he apologizes after he swallows. “But you said I had it wrong. I’d like to get it right.”

Kyoutani peers at him, not quite understanding. “I said he doesn't do shit to me.”

“Does he ignore you?”

“I don't know! Sometimes!” Kyoutani throws his hands in the air, nearly snaps his chopsticks. “Fucking Christ, will you let me eat?”

Yahaba nods, backing off for the benefit of Kyoutani’s chopsticks and for his own headache. They don't speak for the rest of lunch.

* * *

“So, what’s going on with you and Kyoutani?” Watari asks as they walk toward the train station. Kyoutani’s got a doctor’s appointment or something of the like, which left Yahaba the choice of either going home alone or tagging along to work with Watari. He watches with a smile as his best friend removes the bracelets he usually wears, shoving them in his bag as they walk. No jewelry in the kitchen.

“Nothing’s going on,” Yahaba says back easily, because nothing is.

“You’re with him every day.”

“We’re friends.”

“And we’re _best_ friends,” Watari says, but nothing in his tone sounds judgemental. “But you’re only here with me now because he’s busy, aren’t you?”

Yahaba looks away to hide his embarrassed blush. “Maybe. And you’ll always be my best friend. Something with him is just… different.”

“So something _is_ going on?” Watari presses.

“No!” They stop on the train platform, sitting on an open bench. “I’ve just been helping him study lately. He really wants to go to college.”

Watari looks thoughtful. “Huh. I wouldn’t have thought.”

“I didn’t either. But he’s very motivated.”

“That’s good,” Watari nods. They sit in amicable silence for a few moments. “You’re _sure_ nothing is going on?”

“Yes!”

* * *

As they’re walking out of the school, Yahaba says, “My aunt and uncle are over,” at the same time Kyoutani blurts “My dad is on a business trip.”

They blink at each other in surprise.

“You first,” Yahaba says, but Kyoutani shakes his head and gestures to Yahaba. “Well, I said my aunt and uncle are here from Tohoku, they’re staying for a week, I think. It’ll probably be fine after tomorrow, but I don’t think you can come over today.”

“Oh,” Kyoutani says, and his face looks open, thoughtful. “That’s cool. My dad is down in Tokyo for a business trip. I don’t think he’s – I’m pretty sure he’s coming back on Wednesday. So. You can come over.”

It’s Yahaba’s turn to be surprised. For as long as they’ve been hanging out, he’s never been in Kyoutani’s house, hasn’t even seen where he lives. “Oh,” he parrots back. “Are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t have said anything,” Kyoutani grunts with a small roll of his eyes.

Yahaba concedes, and they turn left instead of right out of the school gates as he resigns himself to what Kyoutani has told him is a long walk.

(It’s not as long as a walk as Kyoutani has promised. He’s just slow. With Yahaba striding ahead they manage to cut the time nearly in half.)

Kyoutani stops in front of a run down house. The yard is overgrown in some places, mostly dead in others. Brown grass crunches beneath their feet as they approach the door, flanked on either side by pale, swaying weeds. Yahaba watches as Kyoutani fits his key into the lock, wiggles it, throws a bit of his weight to left to force the door open. Wood squeaks against wood, but the door opens enough to let them into the house.

The air inside is cold, stale, but Kyoutani steps in without hesitation, kicks his shoes into a pile next to the door. They’re all his size, well worn and faded like the rest of the house. Yahaba follows his example, and stares at the contrast of his polished, deep brown shoes, perfectly straight next to Kyoutani’s gray ones, piled atop each other.

“My room’s this way,” Kyoutani says suddenly. It disrupts the quiet and the dust in the air, and Yahaba follows him down a hall and around a corner and up some stairs.

Kyoutani’s room is a lot like the rest of the house: cold, quiet, and worn. It’s a lot different as well: clean, light, and loved. Sunlight slants in through the big window, bending over his mattress – it’s not a western bed, with a frame and a box spring, or a traditional futon, with a platform and padding, it’s just a mattress on the floor, a thick blanket rumpled but covering the whole thing. There are posters on the wall, of bands and movies and even one of The Great Wave of Kanagawa. Old papers and textbooks litter the desk, pens and pencils and highlighters of every color.

“It’s uh, it’s not much,” Kyoutani mumbles, breaking Yahaba out of his inspection. He turns to the shorter boy, notes that he’s scratching at the back of his neck again. His eyes are downcast, eyebrows slightly pinched. He’s nervous, maybe even a little embarrassed.

“That’s fine,” Yahaba smiles. “I like it.” He steps past the bed, through the sunlight, to sit in the desk chair. “I like your Great Wave poster,” he adds, gesturing toward it.

Kyoutani takes a seat in the sun, the bedspread puffing around him. “I have a cousin who’s really into traditional art and shit like that. He bought it for me.”

They lapse into silence again for a few minutes as Yahaba continues to study the room, and for once Kyoutani lets him be.

When he eventually comes to his senses, Yahaba slips off the desk chair, sitting cross legged on the floor and pulling his backpack over to him. Kyoutani slides to the floor as well, and does the same. Yahaba pulls out environmental science homework, Kyoutani pulls out anatomy and physiology homework. They study in the quiet of the house for what feels like hours until Kyoutani has a question.

“Do you know anything about muscles?” he asks, not looking up from his packet.

Yahaba does look up, watches Kyoutani’s eyebrows sink even lower over his eyes, his lips turn down at the corners. He looks pissed, but he’s just concentrating. “I’d expect you to know all about muscles, tough guy,” he teases.

When Kyoutani shifts his eyes up to glare at the other boy instead of his homework, he _is_ slightly pissed. “Smart ass,” he bites. “Can you help me or not?”

With a smile, Yahaba shifts around their mess on the floor to sit beside his friend, peering over his shoulder at the papers he’s frowning at. It’s a diagram of what looks like a shoulder and back, with lines for him to label the muscles. “What’s the problem?” he asks.

“I don’t know the muscles.”

“And you want me to just tell you them? How are you going to learn anything that way?”

Kyoutani huffs. “I’m trying to be a _vet,_ why should I care about what muscles are in a human?”

“I’m sure they’re named similarly in animals,” Yahaba reasons. “Why wouldn’t they be? And besides, don’t you want to pass the test?”

Kyoutani jerks his head around to glare at Yahaba (eyebrows down, lips slightly pursed: impatient, unimpressed, annoyed) but his expression turns to shock when they realize how close they are.

Yahaba’s nose is nearly brushing his cheekbone. When he exhales, he can feel the air bounce back from Kyoutani’s lips to fan over his own face again. Kyoutani’s eyes are wide, light brown, almost gold in the fading sunlight. The dark bags that permanently rest under his eyes are nearly gone; they’ve been disappearing day by day since the two left volleyball and began hanging out.

 _He’s attractive…_ Yahaba thinks, and it’s not quite the first time he’s had the thought. He’s known it, objectively, for some time, but never thought to act on it. Until now. Without thinking, he leans forward, tilting his head so he can capture Kyoutani’s bottom lip between his own. He leans into it slightly, pushing for a moment before sucking on Kyoutani’s lip. It’s soft between his own, full and cold with the chill that lingers in the air.

It takes a moment for him to realize Kyoutani isn’t moving.

He’s not exactly pulling back, but no part of him is pushing forward like Yahaba is, not trying to speak or move or kiss back at all. He just sits on his bedroom floor, stiff as a board beneath Yahaba’s lips.

Yahaba pulls back suddenly, stares back at Kyoutani’s blank face. He wonders if he ever closed his eyes at all. Opening and closing his mouth, Yahaba struggles for words. “I…”

Kyoutani doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just blinks back at him before nodding slightly as he looks away. “I don’t like you like that,” he says, quiet but sure. “I don’t… like boys.”

Deep in his chest, Yahaba’s heart shudders, splinters.

“I don’t really… I don’t like girls either,” Kyoutani admits. “I’ve tried, but I’m always content with just… being friends.” He looks back up at Yahaba, still gaping like a quickly dying fish. “I’d still like you be your friend.”

Even as his heart bursts, shatters completely, Yahaba nods.


End file.
